He turned his back, and took up a book. The girls dared say no more to him; Miss Morley very nearly cried as she thought how impossible it was for women to manage great boys. She ought to complain of his rudeness, but the explanation of what gave rise to it was impossible, and so, poor woman, she thought herself too good-natured. Gerald, in the meantime, had gone to his sister's room, where he called hastily on finding the door fastened. She opened it, and he eagerly asked what was the matter. "Never mind," said Marian; "thank you for remembering my letter. Will you fetch the sealing wax out of----" "Well, but what is the matter?" "Nothing that signifies; never mind." "But I do mind, I can't bear for you to cry. You know I can't, so don't begin again," added he, as his affectionate tones made her lip quiver, and her eyes fill with tears. "But, Gerald, pray get the wax, or----. But no, no," added she hurriedly, "do not, I will not touch it, till----" "Till when?" asked Gerald; "I wish you would tell me how they have been vexing you. I am sure they hare, for they all looked guilty. Poor Marian!" He put his arm round her neck, and drew her cheek to his. Who could withstand such a brother? Marian whispered. "Only--but don't make a fuss--only Miss Morley made me show her my letter." He started from her, and broke forth into a torrent of indignation; and it was not quickly that she succeeded in getting him to listen to her entreaties that he would not tell any one. "What do you mean to do?" said he. "O I will write such a letter to Edmund, in hopes she will ask to see it. But she won't venture on mine. Shall I tell Edmund?" "No, no, Gerald, you do nothing; pray don't say anything. I will speak to Mr. Lyddell, for it was he who gave me leave." "And I hope he will give poor unfortunate a good rowing. Won't it be fun?" "Now, Gerald, pray don't say such things, or I shall be sorry I told you. I dare say she thought it was right." "Stuff and nonsense! Right indeed! I hope Mr. Lyddell will give it to her well!" "If I may not write without having my letters read, I am sure I shall never be able to write at all!" "And when shall you speak? Luckily there is no company to-night, and I hope I shall be there to hear." "No, you will not; I shall wait till you are gone to bed, for I am sure Lionel and Johnny ought to know nothing about it. I believe I had better not have told you; but, Gerald, you are all I have, and I can't help telling you everything." "Of course, Marian, so you ought, for let them laugh at me as they will, I always tell you everything. And won't it be nice when I am grown up, and we can get away from them all, and live at home together, and I go out shooting every day, and you and Ranger stand at the top of the steps to watch me? For Ranger will be too old to go out shooting by that time." In the midst of this picture of rural felicity, Saunders came to tell Marian that it was time to dress.